A conversation recently happened with a group of women wherein height was being compared. Two of us are 5’10”, so she and I talked about the similarity – being taller than most women we encounter, etc. As the conversation ended, she threw in a “well, I wish I had that body, too” and did a quick survey of me up and down with her hands/eyes.

I was mortified – shocked – and it initially felt like she was making fun of me because … I don’t know … I guess my brain is still a complicated mess. I forget that I’m different. I forget that most people don’t know I’ve lost a substantial amount of weight. I still feel like the old me. I looked around, though, and realized I was standing in a room with 7-8 other women and I was the thinnest person in the room.

I had no idea how to respond to something like that.

So. Very awkward.

I responded by blurting out that I’ve lost 100 pounds and haven’t always had this body – while thinking – please don’t judge me because I’m just like you and I understand and I’ve been in your shoes and I promise I know what it’s like and oh god I sound like a cocky bitch but why can’t you people see how fat I am, anyway.

I wound up telling them my story and letting them down when I had no big reveal re: how I did it. They were shocked and had a bunch of questions and talked about how motivating it is to hear about it, how great I look, how they would have never known, etc.

Here’s the thing: I could have really appreciated that encounter. I feel like it should have felt good – nice – to hear that stuff, to be congratulated, to have some affirmation that I did a decent thing. I could have turned the whole thing into a positive/helpful/potentially motivating experience for everyone involved.

I didn’t hear that, though – and I didn’t respond that way. I responded by talking about how I still struggle, how I’m not done losing weight, how I have a long way to go. All negative. I went back to my office categorizing all the things wrong with my body – and seriously wondering why they couldn’t see how I’ve failed at finishing even though it’s been 4 YEARS FTLOG.

I was caught off guard, for sure, since I’ve never experienced a comment like that – but WTF.

I am in excellent health. I weigh 165ish pounds. I’ve lost over 100 pounds. I have a great routine re: sleep, food & exercise and have more peace with my lifestyle than ever before. I eat what I want, when I want – and I’m ok with that. I exercise because I enjoy it. I work hard to balance it all well – and I think I mostly succeed. I’m happy. I know this stuff.

Apparently none of that matters lately, though. None of it is powerful enough to combat the BS swirling around in my mind about how my stomach is jiggly and my butt has cellulite. Or about how I skipped the gym because I was tired and chose to watch tv instead. Or about how I eat a fucking white potato every night and am ok with that, but shouldn’t be.

This is not an extreme thing and I’m definitely not sitting around loathing my body or habits – trust me – I am very comfortable in my own skin – but I seem to be harder on myself NOW than when I was 100 pounds heavier and had a lot more work to do.

I don’t know when I will ever be done. Content. Satisfied with whatever success I’ve achieved. I don’t know when I will be able to accept positive comments and acknowledge that I’ve done something decent for myself.

I don’t know WHY I’m not content – happy – accepting – of what I’ve done, how I’ve done it and the result, but apparently I’m just not ready to stop beating myself up. Yet.

They jokingly told me that they want me to start a group for them (since that’s part of what I do professionally – facilitate groups for other things for people other than co-workers) and I just wish they knew how much I sincerely want to do something like that in a real and meaningful way in the future.

I have to figure out how to balance this stuff, though – my background and what I have to offer with my freakish belief that I have to be absolutely “perfect” for any of it to matter.
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Jon and I woke up Saturday morning at the crack of dawn and decided to go on some sort of adventure – so we took a long route through the mountains and wound up in Asheville, NC for … I don’t know. Lunch + walking around.

They’re not super sweet – but I definitely look forward to them each morning. I can’t even imagine adding a sweetener at this point.

Exercise? I’m averaging about 3 trips to the gym per week – with at least 2 of them being at 5am since I’m trying my best to make the early morning thing a habit. I’m also meeting with the trainer once a week outside of the gym … and I’m still trying to make it to Pilates at least once a week (also outside of the gym).

Sleep is good. 8-9 hours/night.

This all means I am at home and awake approximately 2 hours a day. But I’m good. Healthy. Balancing it all pretty well.

Like this:

I completely get it. I do. I lost 50 pounds and need to lose 20 more. And I really do need to lose it: I weigh the same as you but am several inches shorter. Little tea pot, I am.

I exercise religiously five times a week. I work out despite the fact that I have a quad injury that’s been bugging me off and on for literally months. I won’t go to the doctor and have it checked because if I do, he will tell me to give my body the rest it obviously needs and therefore the fifty pounds will come roaring back during my hiatus.

Plus another 10 for good measure.

So I understand because I’m in the exact same place–these past few days have been exceptionally bad. The only thing I can offer is this: life is nothing but a series of good and bad days strung together. And those days begin in our head.